Somewhat Different
by kellythefangirl
Summary: A collection of stories featuring a young Sherlock Holmes and John Watson (Kidlock)
1. Meeting John Watson

Chapter 1: Meeting John Watson

The boy sat alone on the swing set, staring at the empty one beside him. He heard the telltale signs of bike tires on asphalt and turned to see a little boy, around his age but more than a little shorter than him, parking his bike and waving to him. The eight-year-old Sherlock Holmes waved back, hesitantly, and quickly realized his mistake when the boy came closer.

"Hello," the boy said.

"Good morning," Sherlock said politely, wondering when Mycroft would come back to bring him home.

"I'm John," he said. "John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Can I swing with you?"

Sherlock sighed. "I guess."

John smiled and sat on the swing next to Sherlock. He began to rock it back and forth and before Sherlock even realized it, he was, too. "How old are you?" John asked.

"Eight."

"Oh," he said, looking disappointed. "I'm nine. I won't be in school with you."

"Yes, you will," Sherlock said, looking around semi-frantically for his brother. "I skipped first grade."

John looked confused. "How come?"

"I was too smart."

"Oh," John said. "Prove it!"

Sherlock allowed himself a small smile. This would make him go away. It made everyone else go away. "You're an only child. Your dad's in the army and your mom works a lot."

Immediately, John said, "Whoa!" Sherlock waited for him to say 'freak', but the next time he spoke, John said, "That's so cool! You are really smart!"

Sherlock found himself smiling and thinking this John boy wasn't all that bad.

"Wanna be friends?" John asked.

"No one's my friend," Sherlock said.

"Well then, you need one! And I do too, because I just moved here and I don't know anyone. So are we friends?"

Sherlock smiled. "Okay. We're friends."

Mycroft, Sherlock's 15-year-old brother, called for him from the sidewalk. "That's my brother. I gotta go. See you at school."

"Bye!" John called as Sherlock ran to his brother. As they walked, Mycroft asked, "Who was that, Sherlock?"

"My friend," the boy announced proudly.


	2. Recess

Chapter 2: Recess

"Hi, Sherlock!"

The little boy almost spilled the contents of the container and smiled, which only lightly masked his frustration. "Hi, John." John wasn't in Sherlock's class, but apparently he had recess with him.

"Can we swing again?" John asked him. Sherlock sighed.

"I'm busy, John."

"What's that?" he asked, looking at Sherlock's experiment.

"I'm mixing dimethyl sulphate and ammonia."

"Why?"

"To see what happens," Sherlock said. "Please let me work."

"But... they won't let me play football with them!" John complained.

"Then give me the ammonia." John hesitantly handed the other boy the container marked 'A' and Sherlock slowly poured in the second liquid. It started to make a strange hissing noise and Sherlock's eyes widened.

"What was that, Sherlock?"

"Ummmm... run!" he shouted and they both got about ten feet away before they heard a loud BOOM.

"You can't _mix explosive chemicals_ in a _schoolyard_, Mr. Holmes!"

The headmaster was pacing the floor of the office in front of Sherlock and John. "I didn't know they were explosive!" Sherlock protested.

The man sighed. "Mr. Holmes, I expect this behavior from you. But Mr. Watson, blowing up part of the playground is _not_ the best first impression."

John looked terrified. "Yes, sir, sorry, sir."

He elbowed Sherlock who muttered, "Sorry, sir."

Mycroft came in then. "Sorry, Mr. Morris, about my little brother, I assure you, our parents will deal with it accordingly."

Mr. Morris smiled as soon as Mycroft entered and said, "Yes, it's quite all right, Mycroft. Accidents do happen." The headmaster turned to John. "Mr. Watson, you get a warning. _One_ warning. Understand?" John nodded quickly. "All of you. Out of my office."

The second the door closed behind them Mycroft groaned. "Sherlock Holmes, what on _Earth_ were you thinking?"

"You're not going to tell Mum, are you?" Sherlock asked, grimacing.

Mycroft sighed. "No, I suppose not." He paused before adding, "You blew up the swings. _Again._" Sherlock began to giggle uncontrollably and John joined in a few seconds later. Mycroft walked away with his head in his hands and they didn't stop giggling until they got to lunch.


	3. What's Wrong With Me?

Chapter 3: What's Wrong With Me?

Mycroft heard the crying before he saw its source. Alarmed, the older boy searched for his brother until he found him in the study. He was sitting behind a stack of books trying to quiet the sobs that were no longer under his control. "Sherlock?" he asked hesitantly. The sobs grew louder. Mycroft picked up one of the books.

Psychology in Children

"It said I'm a social path or something," he sniffed.

"A sociopath?" Mycroft asked and the little boy nodded. Sherlock looked up at his brother with big, sad eyes. "Mycroft. What's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Sherlock," Mycroft said. He took the medical dictionary off the bookshelf. He read the little boy the definition of sociopath. " 'A person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience.'" Mycroft looked at his brother. "This would mean you have no friends—that you aren't _capable_ of having friends, at least in a healthy way."

"I don't."

"You have John, don't you?" The boy smiled at his friend's name and it reassured Mycroft that there really wasn't anything wrong with Sherlock.

"But I don't care when the other kids don't like me, Mycroft."

Mycroft didn't believe that. "Sherlock, why did you look this up?"

"Because they called me 'freak' again at school today."

"Then you obviously do care some." Mycroft felt the need to comfort him as well, though, and said hesitantly, "Though sometimes, caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. It can cloud your mind from making the right choices. Remember that." Mycroft put the dictionary back on the shelf. "And as for no conscience, you want to solve murders, Sherlock. You want to catch murderers but you don't think you have a conscience? There's nothing wrong with you."

"Thanks, Mycroft," Sherlock mumbled, and suddenly threw his arms around his older brother. Mycroft was surprised; neither of them were overly affectionate people.

"Put those books back where you found them. And don't go looking at them again, Sherlock."

"Okay."


	4. Cluedo

Chapter 4: Cluedo

"Operation?"

"John, you always want to play that."

"Pictionary?"

"I hate drawing. Drawing is boring."

"Hungry Hungry Hippos?"

"Are you serious, John? Are we four?"

"Cluedo?"

The young Sherlock sat straight up from where he was lying on the Watsons' couch, watching his friend go through their game cabinet after he had shown up and let himself into their flat, announcing he was bored. "Is that the murder mystery game?"

"Yeah."

Sherlock jumped off the couch and sat on the floor where John was opening the box.

"He _can't_, Sherlock!"

"But he _did_, John!"

"It's a _murder_ mystery game!"

"And I'm telling you, he _killed himself!_"

"Boys? What's going on?" John's mother asked, looking at the board game.

Sherlock sighed. "Hi, Mrs. Watson. The victim did it. It's supposed to be Colonel Mustard but he was obviously in the kitchen when the incident occurred, based on the angle at which he started; everyone else has similar alibis. So, John, my 'guess' is the victim, in the dining room, with a dagger."

Mrs. Watson blinked. "Okay," she said.

"I don't wanna play anymore," John said, pouting.

Sherlock felt a twinge of guilt and he sighed. "Okay! We can play Operation! Fine!"

Sherlock watched as John expertly handled the tweezers, bringing the game pieces out of the holes one by one. Sherlock wasn't doing nearly as well. "You'd be a good doctor, John."


	5. The Science of Deduction

Chapter 5: The Science of Deduction

"John!" Sherlock shouted excitedly at recess. John ran off the football field; it was May and after three months, he had been slowly accepted into the mix of footballers—but he could hear them snickering as he talked to Sherlock.

"What, Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock pulled a folded piece of newspaper from his coat pocket.

"'Triple murder on east side'?" John read aloud. "Um, why is this exciting?"

"It's not just any triple murder, John," Sherlock said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "The papers said—"

"Said they were all stabbed but one of them at an odd angle," a girl behind them said. Sherlock looked behind him at Molly Hooper, a girl whom he didn't know but spent an annoying amount of time staring at him. Sherlock was shocked. "Molly?"

"It's interesting," she said, blushing. "What?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said, then turned back to John. "Isn't it cool? Either there were two murderers—"

"There weren't," Molly said. "It was the same knife; the other two's blood was on it and everything."

Sherlock looked both impressed and disappointed. "Oh," he said. "Well, I guess it's obvious, then," and sulked away. John looked at Molly.

"Is it obvious?" John asked.

"Everything is to him," Molly sighed.

John called Sherlock after school that day.

"Hello?"

"Why is it obvious?" John asked.

"Oh, hi, John."

"Tell me, please."

"Oh. He killed them and then killed himself."

"Um, ew."

"But it's fun to figure out things before the police do."

John laughed. "You should be a detective."

"I will be."

"I thought you were just science smart. I didn't know you could solve crimes."

"It is science."

"What is?"

"Deduction."

"What's that?"

"Finding the truth about stuff from what you see or hear."

"Like you did when we met?" John asked, remembering how Sherlock knew about his whole family after only knowing him for a minute.

"Exactly."

John paused. "When will the police figure it out?"

Sherlock laughed. "Probably in a week or so."

John laughed, too. "Bye, Sherlock."

"Bye, John."


	6. Sherlock's Birthday

Chapter 6: Sherlock's Birthday

"This is horrible already," Sherlock muttered.

"Mother tried, Sherlock. You like mysteries, she tried to give you a mystery. Please at least pretend to be having fun," Mycroft whispered as the host of the murder mystery party passed out the information cards.

"I like real murders," Sherlock replied. "This is an insult to even the ordinary people's intelligence."

Mycroft sighed. "Will you please stop calling them that?"

"Welcome to the murder mystery party!" the man said with clearly strained enthusiasm as he surveyed the room, which contained John, Sherlock, Molly, and Mycroft, as well as four children of his father's coworkers. "Whose birthday is it?"

"Mine," Sherlock said with a sigh.

"And what's your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"And how old are you turning?"

"Nine. This is all in the paperwork and everyone else obviously knows who I am, so can you stop asking stupid questions?" Mycroft gave his brother a warning glance.

The man looked taken aback. "Ah, yes... all right, everyone check your information cards." The man grinned as he said, "One of you gets to be the murderer!"

Sherlock glanced at his card; it wasn't him. He looked around the room and watched everyone else read their cards. "It was him," he said, pointing to the son of his father's secretary. Mycroft sighed.

The host, who looked like he was trying very hard to be patient, said, "Young man, how could you possibly know that? We haven't even begun yet."

Sherlock sighed. "Only three people seemed to care when they looked at their card: Molly, because she likes this sort of thing; Mycroft, because he's being polite; and him. That means he has something to do, like play the murderer. Plus, Mycroft and Molly got their cards first and last. You'd never make one of them the murderer, it's too obvious. Unless you were being obvious on purpose to fool us, but why bother? We're children. No need to change policy, by the way, I'm just the exception that proves the rule. Can I have cake now?"

The man glared as he muttered, "I suppose..."

Mycroft sighed and said, "Sherlock, must you always—"

"But, Mycroft, you of all people should be happy we get cake sooner," Sherlock said with a perfectly innocent expression that quickly became a grin. He ran gleefully to the dessert table as he called over his shoulder, "You know what? I am having fun!"


	7. Fireflies

Chapter 7: Fireflies

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, slamming open his friend's door. Sherlock winced when the light came pouring in.

"John, it's late and I'm busy," he muttered. John was holding two large jars for God knows what reason, and he set them down on Sherlock's desk.

"Why're you working in the dark?" John asked.

"I'm trying to make my pillow glow in the dark. What do you want?"

"Wanna catch fireflies?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because they glow! It's pretty! And it's fun to catch them!"

Sherlock sighed. "You want me to catch bugs because they look pretty? Are you joking?"

"This is really hard, oddly enough," Sherlock panted after he'd been in the park for a half hour, having only caught three. John had caught ten and was wearing the smug grin he always did when he beat Sherlock at something. "Can we stop now?"

"Sure," John said, setting his jar on the ground and lying down on the grass.

"What do we do with them now?" Sherlock asked, holding his jar away from himself as if it smelled bad.

"You let them go."

Sherlock was shocked. "Then what was the point of all this?"

John sighed. "Just let them go and watch them fly!"

"Okay," Sherlock said and hesitantly lied down, unscrewed the jar, and freed his fireflies. The sky was full of stars and the glowing bugs combined in a strange collage. After a few seconds, Sherlock asked, "Is it a bit weird to you to see steady, small lights and flickering bigger ones?"

"Sherlock? Shut up."

"Okay." A pause. "Happy birthday."

"I didn't think you'd remembered."

"Of course I did."

They lied there, watching the stars and the fireflies.

"I guess this is okay, I mean—"

"Sherlock."

"Sorry."


	8. Teddy

Chapter 8: Teddy

Mycroft looked up from his book and saw his brother through the window, poking the ground listlessly with a stick in the garden. The older brother went outside and asked, "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

Sherlock looked up. "I'm _bored_, Mycroft."

Mycroft's eyes widened. "Oh, dear Lord. The last time you were bored, Mrs. Turner's dog was in the hospital for days."

"It was an experiment! And I'm sorry but I think every criminal in London got together and decided they weren't going to kill anyone in August. There hasn't been anything in the papers for weeks."

"Well, just calm down, Sherlock, school will be starting soon," Mycroft said. Sherlock looked disgusted. He scooped up a bit of dirt with the stick.

"The ground looks funny. Did it rain last night? Wait, don't tell me! I'll analyze it!" Sherlock said, and tried to run to his room.

Mycroft gripped his arm, effectively stopping his little brother. "All right, you need something to do."

"John!" Sherlock shouted to his friend, who was walking down his driveway holding a stuffed bear. John walked across the street to them.

"Uh, hi?"

"Give me the bear," Sherlock said.

"No! It's for Harriet," John protested.

"Tell her it's for a good cause," Sherlock said.

Mycroft snorted. "Your entertainment?" Then he thought for a minute and said, "Well, actually, if we'd like to keep our pets intact, it is a rather good cause, I suppose..."

"She's a baby, Sherlock," John sighed.

"Mycroft, get a kitchen knife," Sherlock said with a gleam in his eye.

"What are you going to do to Teddy?" John asked, pulling the bear closer to him immediately.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Very creative name, John. And we're seeing if you can deduce."

"Was it me or Mycroft?" Sherlock asked John, who was staring with horror at Teddy, which was newly impaled.

"I-I don't know..."

"Look at the angle, John! Come on!" It was clearly obvious to Sherlock.

"I don't know!" John insisted.

"No you don't _observe_ it," Sherlock sighed. "Okay, fine. Maybe an ordinary mind can't handle it."

"Hey!"


	9. The Boy at the Head Teacher's Office

Chapter 9: The Boy at the Head Teacher's Office

Sherlock sighed as he sat down, carrying his assignment from the first day, on the bench outside the head teacher's office. He rolled his eyes as Molly walked by and whispered to him, "Already? On the second day?"

"Yes, already!" he hissed and she scurried down the hallway.

"So I take it you're here a lot, then?" the boy sitting next to him asked. "What'd you do this time?"

Sherlock turned to look at the boy. He was tall and looked strong. His blond hair was cropped into a military style and he was clearly at least a year above Sherlock. He decided this boy fell under the category of people you have to respond to in order to live.

"Uh, they don't like it when you say your hobbies include cataloguing poisons in your 'All About Me' assignment," Sherlock said uncomfortably.

The boy smirked. "Apparently, telling them your only hobby's shooting targets and that you want to be a sniper causes them to worry."

Sherlock smiled a little. "Wait," the boy said slowly. "Aren't you that freaky genius kid from year 5? Uh... Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yeah, so?" Sherlock muttered, knowing this would turn bad quickly.

"Relax, I'm not gonna hurt you. Actually, I have a... friend, he's just like you."

"You're not his friend. You work for him. I can tell by the way you said it, like you'd never say it in front of him. But what 10-year-old would need a sniper?" Sherlock asked, finally interested. Just then, the secretary opened the door.

"Sebastian Moran? Mr. Morris is ready for you. Sherlock, just wait a minute, it won't take long." Sebastian Moran stood up to go.

"I bet you'll meet him soon enough. He goes to Eton, but he comes down a lot. And he's been asking about you," he added as the door closed behind him.


	10. The Mind Palace

Chapter 10: The Mind Palace

"Mycroft! MYCROFT!" Sherlock shouted in front of his brother's door. The elder Holmes brother opened his door a few seconds later, furious.

"Sherlock Holmes, it is 5:46 A.M. what on Earth do you think you're doing?" Mycroft demanded.

Sherlock, unfazed, jumped up and down with excitement. "Give me an element!"

"A what?"

"An element on the periodic table!"

"Will this make you go away?" Mycroft asked.

"Eventually."

He sighed. "Ah, silver."

Sherlock's eyes unfocused for a second and he seemed to be moving imaginary objects with his hands before he immediately snapped back to reality. "Atomic number 47, elemental symbol Ag, atomic weight 107.8682," Sherlock recited proudly.

Mycroft blinked. "Osmium."

Sherlock repeated the strange motions. "76, Os, 190.23."

"Scandium."

"21, Sc, 44.955910."

"Molybdenum!"

"42, Mo, 95.94."

Mycroft groaned in frustration. "How are you doing that? And what are those weird movements?"

"I made a mind palace!" Sherlock said in delight.

"A what?"

"It's this memory technique I read about. You take some location, empty it, and put a set of information in it, all inside your head, and it helps you remember things! Isn't it cool?"

"No," Mycroft said flatly.

Sherlock faltered. "Uh, I could help you make one if you want," he offered.

"No thank you," Mycroft said equally flatly, and slammed his bedroom door.

"Well," Sherlock shouted, finally upset, "you're just jealous it took you weeks to memorize that for school!"

Sherlock heard the sound of the lock clicking into place and left, sulking. "Fine..."


	11. Send Me Away

**Author's Note:**

Hey guys! This is Kelly, who just figured out how to add an Author's Note because I'm so smart like that...this is my first story, so thank you so much if you've been reading so far! So, I hope you enjoy this chapter. And I'm sorry I haven't posted in a few days, I started school and this is literally the first free time I've had. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 11: Send Me Away

"You're joking, right?" Sherlock asked his parents, eyes widened.

"We're not joking, Sherlock," his mother said patiently. "We think Eton will be good for you."

"Why?" he protested. "What's wrong with here?"

His father took out a letter. "We got this from your teacher. 'Dear Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, your son Sherlock is very bright but he has shown antisocial tendencies, dangerous behavior patterns such as bringing _arsenic to school_, and an alarming level of apathy about the academic environment. We recommend a change of circumstances for Sherlock; possibly a public school, where he can fulfill his need for independence without endangering others..."

"I'm not going to bloody Eton!" Sherlock shouted.

"Sherlock Holmes, will you be quiet!" his father shouted equally loudly. Sherlock opened his mouth to point out the irony but his mother, sensing danger, rushed to speak.

"Honey, you can't keep behaving like this," she said, smiling apologetically. "Eton will be good for you."

"You keep saying that, but it won't make it any more true," Sherlock muttered.

"Honey, you can't be happy here. You don't talk to anyone—"

"They're stupid, _why_ would I want to?"

"You brought _arsenic_ to a school—God knows where you got it but..."

"It was an experiment!"

"And you just don't care at all!"

"It's completely beneath me!"

"Stop!" Mr. Holmes shouted over his wife and son's arguing. "Stop this! You," he said, glaring at Sherlock, "you are a child and you will not talk back to us!"

Sherlock's eyes widened in disbelief. "If you would just _listen_—"

"NO! _YOU_ LISTEN TO _ME! _YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL, WE'RE ONLY TRYING TO MAKE YOU _NORMAL—"_ Sherlock's father stopped at once when he saw his son's eyes well up with tears.

"Oh, that's what this is, is it? You can't bear to have an _abnormal_ son, so you get rid of me as best you can?" Sherlock asked, the mistiness in his eyes spilling over into tears.

"No, that's not what—"

"You meant? Oh, please, please inform me what you _meant!_ Fine! Send me away because you can't deal with me! Fine!" he yelled, standing up and running up the staircase to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Mycroft slowly peeked around the kitchen door to where his parents still sat. "Mycroft," his mother said, sighing in relief. "Could you try to calm him down? Maybe he'll listen to you."

Mycroft slowly stood up and walked up to his brother's room. Before he could knock, he heard a small voice speak from inside.

"You promised. You said there was nothing wrong with me," Sherlock managed before a new bout of sobbing began. Mycroft sat outside the door until the crying stopped and he knew his brother was asleep. He then opened the door, lifted the small boy off the floor, and tucked him in to bed. Mycroft left the sleeping Sherlock, who looked so peaceful no one would ever have guessed at the voices shouting inside.


	12. The Soldier

Chapter 12: The Soldier

Sherlock raised his eyebrows when he opened the door to see his friend in a full camoflauge outfit, complete with a toy gun and a bravery medal on his chest. "What are you supposed to be?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm a soldier!" John said excitedly. "Soldiers are so cool, I wanna be one! And at least I'm not a pirate!" he added, scowling, when Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Sherlock's face fell. "Pirates are cool," he muttered, looking down at the striped shirt and plastic sword he was wearing. "Let's just go," he said.

"I thought you wanted to be a doctor, John," Sherlock said as the two walked down the street past the littler children with their parents, giggling at their bags of candy. The whole concept was juvenile, Sherlock knew, but who cares? There was candy.

"I can be both!" John insisted. "My mum said that there are soldier doctors."

"I suppose there'd have to be," Sherlock agreed. "Okay, fine. Whatever. Where are we going? We haven't gone anywhere for candy."

"The Pattersons," John said, bouncing up and down. Sherlock decided he'd probably already had quite a bit of candy. "They have this huge haunted house, and at the end, you get three king-sized chocolate bars for making it through."

Sherlock smiled a little. "That creepy mansion near Gloucester?"

John nodded. Sherlock's smile grew as they reached the house, covered with cobwebs and ghosts made of bedsheets.

The haunted house began at the garage door and the two of them entered through the black curtains, suddenly engulfed in complete darkness. Sherlock would never admit it to John, but he was slightly nervous. He hated the dark; he couldn't see what was happening there, he was completely ignorant.

When the first skeleton jumped out at them, Sherlock squealed and jumped behind John, who wasn't the most effective shield. John laughed.

"How are you not scared?" Sherlock whispered.

"I'm a soldier," John announced proudly. "Soldiers don't get scared."

Sherlock tightly gripped John's sleeve for the rest of the haunted house. At the end, when Mr. Patterson gave them their candy bars, Sherlock reluctantly gave his to John. "Here. You deserve this more," he muttered. John's eyes widened with awe and he dropped his candy bag and hugged Sherlock. Sherlock smiled and forgot for a minute that he would eventually have to tell his friend he had no choice but to leave him alone next year. Just like he used to be.


	13. Telling John

**Author's Note:**

Hey guys...so I'm not really sure about this chapter, I usually hate it when people actually put their story titles in their stories, but oh well. By the way, I'm really busy now with school and stuff so I won't be posting as much, probably two or three times a week. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 13: Telling John

"What?" John gasped in horror. "You're—you're leaving? Why?"

"I don't have a choice," Sherlock said quietly, looking down at his hands. The two were in Sherlock's room, and John had just heard the news—Sherlock would be going to Eton, and he would be left in London...alone.

"But—but—it's not fair!" John protested.

"I know."

"Sherlock," he said, sounding almost desperate, looking at his friend with wide eyes, "what am I going to do?"

"Whatever I'll do."

"What's that?"

"No idea."

The boys burst into tears at the same time.

"Please, Sherlock, please don't go."

"I can't stay, John."

"It's not fair."

"You said that already."

"Shut up," John whispered.

"Okay."

They both cried. John tried not to but tears fell anyway; Sherlock wasn't making any attempt of hiding but the boy had cried enough and only a single tear remained.

It was a long time before John spoke, quietly but firmly. "I'm coming, too."

Sherlock stared at him. "What? No, you can't, John, you can't afford it."

"I'm going to try-wait. How do you know that? Never mind," John added quickly, when Sherlock started to explain at length why his mother's boots and the coffee table in their living room had told him their economic status. "It'll take too long for me to get it. But I'd miss that, Sherlock. The stuff you know without anyone telling you."

Sherlock grinned shyly. "No one else likes it when I do that. You're different, I guess."

"If I'm different, you're totally different," John said teasingly.

"Yeah, I guess we are somewhat different than them, aren't we?"

"That's a good thing," John said. "None of my other friends I've had were like you at all."

"And that's good, is it?"

"Definitely."


	14. The Tree

**Author's Note: Hey guys! So I know it's September but I really wanted to do a Christmas chapter so yeah. I'm not sure about the ending but I hope you guys like it! -Kelly**

Chapter 14: The Tree

"HAPPY CHRISTMAS!" John shouted, slamming the Holmes' door open, carrying a plastic bag of presents and wearing a ghastly red and green jumper. Sherlock looked up from his book and sighed.

"Oh, not you, too," the boy complained, putting down his book. "Molly Hooper's been round. Tried to hang some plant from our doorframe and then just stood there. Ugh."

"Where's your tree?" John asked, concerned.

"Huh? Oh. Mycroft helped me move it into the hallway. It was annoying me."

John peeked into the hallway and saw the bare pine tree leaning against the wall. "Well, it's just not decorated. Let's move it."

"Fine. MYCROFT!"

* * *

An hour later, empty decoration boxes were scattered across the floor and John and Sherlock were arguing over a star and an angel. "I like the angel," John said.

"The star," Sherlock said, shaking his head.

"But the angel looks better!" John insisted. "Plus it kinda looks like you."

Sherlock looked offended. "I'm a _boy_!" he protested.

"There are boy angels!"

Mycroft walked back in, smirked, and said, "I can assure you, John, he isn't an angel." Sherlock glared at his older brother as Mycroft put the angel on top.

Sherlock grimaced. "It looks stupid and my hands smell like pine and any tree inside looks odd anyway and I feel stupid for agreeing to this and—" Sherlock fell silent when John plugged in the lights and the red, green, and gold colors lit up the room.

"Okay, fine, it doesn't look awful," Sherlock muttered and John beamed as he handed him a present.

Sherlock shook it and grinned. "New test tubes!"

"Yeah, sorry I broke the old ones. Especially during your experiment."

"It's okay, we needed new floors anyway," Sherlock said offhandedly, still enthralled with his gift. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Happy Christmas, Sherlock," John said.

Sherlock reluctantly said, "Happy Christmas, John." John grinned and hugged him.


	15. Reverse Psychology

Chapter 15: Reverse Psychology

"I'm trying, it's hard, Sherlock."

"No, it isn't! It's just a few names," Sherlock insisted as he leaned over John's history homework. "Which one was in office in 1920?"

"I can't. It's every prime minister, Sherlock. Every. Single. One," John complained, throwing his pen down in frustration.

"John, if you really want to go to Eton—" Sherlock said with draining patience.

"I know, okay? Just leave me alone!" he said.

"You told me you wanted me to tutor you!" Sherlock protested.

"Just leave me alone."

Sherlock walked toward John's door and then smiled a little, stopped, and said, "I guess you'd never be able to handle it. You're right."

John looked up in shock. "What?"

"Oh, yeah, this is way too hard for your intelligence level, you're right," Sherlock said, and started to leave.

"Wait!" John yelled in fury. Sherlock smiled wider. "1920...David Lloyd George! That's right, isn't it? Ha!"

"Very good, John, I knew you could do it," Sherlock said, walking back to the table.

"What? No, you didn't!" John exclaimed.

"Yes, I did, it's called... reverse psychology, I think. I read about it last night," Sherlock said proudly. "And it worked!"

John glared at him for a while but couldn't stay angry for long and ended up smiling. "Okay, fine. Let's keep going. And please don't mess with my head!"

"Sorry," Sherlock said. "But you shouldn't have taken that long anyway, you usually don't."

"I had practice till late last night."

"Ugh. Football," Sherlock muttered with disdain.

"Hey! I'm trying to get a scholarship!"

"From football? You could get a scholarship from your test score."

"Yeah, right. I'm too stupid."

"I guess you're—" Sherlock began, but when John looked up in alarm, he quickly said, "Totally wrong, you're not stupid at all."

"Right. You do the school thing, I'll do the sport thing," John said, sliding his homework away from him.

"No, you can do this," Sherlock insisted. "Who was prime minister in 1980?"

"I don't know!"

"Maybe you're right, just go play football."

"Hey, wait! She's still in office, isn't she? It's Margaret Thatcher, isn't it?"

"Good! See?"

"Stop that!"


	16. The Letters

Chapter 16: The Letters

"Did you get yours?"

"Yeah, but I know what mine says. My dad bribed the school. There's a big plaque in the front of the school in his name now. You?"

"Haven't opened it."

* * *

Concern flashed across Sherlock's face. "Be right over."

"It's not a big deal if you didn't get in, John," Sherlock said unconvincingly. "I'll still see you... on holidays and things."

John sighed. "Stop faking it, you're scared, too!"

"Okay, fine. But just open it already. The answer won't change the longer you worry."

John sighed. "I know that, Sherlock, but..."

"Just open the stupid thing!"

"Okay!" He opened the letter. For several minutes, he read in silence, his face frozen.

Sherlock sat rigid on the Watsons' couch this whole time, very scared of what would happen if the letter was kindly telling his friend he had to be alone now... Finally he couldn't wait any longer. "What does it say?"

John looked up and his face broke into a grin. "I GOT IN! WITH A FOOTBALL SCHOLARSHIP!"

Sherlock smiled and John hugged him and started jumping up and down excitedly. "I see the scholarship's enough, then?"

"Hold on!" John said, then shouted to behind the closed door to his parents' bedroom, "MUM! I GOT IN!"

Muffled cheering could be heard from behind the door and John giggled. "Yeah, it's enough, it's half the tuition!"

"That's great, John," Sherlock said, smiling wider.

"Oh, and it's a _football_ scholarship, not an _academic_ scholarship," John said with a bit of annoyance. "I _told_ you I didn't need to study for that awful test."

"Oh, shut up."


	17. The Pool

**Author's Note: Hey guys! So the chapter after this one is going to be the last one, because I'm going to start a new story about both of them at the school the next year. The first chapter will be on my profile probably about a week or two after the last chapter of this but this is Chapter 17 so enjoy!**

Chapter 17: The Pool

Sherlock called John as soon as he realized the missing piece. "Hello?" John answered sleepily.

"John, we have to go to the pool on Baker Street."

John sighed. "Sherlock, it's six in the morning."

"But I just had a breakthrough and I can't wait or I might talk myself out of it!"

"A breakthrough in what? And anyway, we can't go in there, Sherlock, it's a crime scene, that kid from Sussex drowned on Thursday..." John sighed again. "Oh. You're talking about that, aren't you? We can't go down there, Sherlock. They won't let us in."

"We can't know that unless we try. Get dressed. I'll be there in ten minutes." Before John could protest, Sherlock had hung up. He sighed and went to get ready.

* * *

"What's your amazing breakthrough?" John asked while they walked down the street to the public pool. John secretly was glad for being dragged out of bed at six a.m. on a Saturday morning. Things had been tense between them when they weren't sure if they'd ever see each other again come August; now that Sherlock knew for sure John was coming with him, he was much friendlier, like before, when they had first met.

"His shoes, John."

"What about his shoes?"

"They found all of Carl Powers's clothes in the locker room," Sherlock explained as they walked into the pool. "But not his shoes. Isn't that weird to you?"

"No. He could've left them in the car, his mum could've taken them, it's not weird, Sherlock," John said, starting to grow annoyed. A young police officer came up to them then.

"Whoa, whoa, you boys can't be in here—" the officer said.

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said, immediately acting very professional and mature, to the point where even John was shocked. "This is my... friend, John Watson. There's something weird going on here, you have to have noticed it."

"Look, boys, I'm not doing the investigating..."

"Well, obviously, you're new. Between the youth and the uniform, you're probably a new detective, not really doing much yet? What's your name?"

"Uh—Detective Lestrade—" the officer managed, freaked out by Sherlock like many adults. "You still can't—"

"His shoes. His shoes are gone. Isn't that weird to you?" Sherlock demanded.

"Okay, look, my personal opinion doesn't matter," the guy admitted, "but... it does seem weird. Just let us handle it, okay?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I would if you _could, _but..."

"Okay, we're leaving!" John said quickly. "Thanks, Detective Lestrade." John pulled a protesting Sherlock towards the exit.

"What was that?" Sherlock demanded.

"Hey, Holmes," a voice whispered from inside the locker room next to them. Sherlock recognized the voice and turned to John.

"Wait here," he said.

"Who's that?" John asked as Sherlock walked in. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock looked behind a row of lockers and saw the boy from the head teacher's office in September.

"Sebastian Moran, the aspiring sniper with a mysterious boss from Eton. I'm going to Eton, you know. Very excited to meet him," Sherlock said, feigning sarcasm when he really was curious.

"Well, he got impatient," Sebastian said with a smirk. "He'll meet you here tonight. Midnight. He says, quote, 'He can bring his pet if he wants.'"

"Does he mean John?" Sherlock asks. "He's not my pet!"

"He'll see you."

As Sebastian walked away, Sherlock called after him, "Do I even get a name?"

He looked back at him. "Nope. Maybe tonight."


	18. Extraordinary

Chapter 18: Extraordinary

Sherlock left at quarter to midnight, alone. He knew he could walk out and no one would notice—he'd tested that theory when he'd tried to run away one night. He'd thought better of it and came back before his parents woke up but that wasn't the point—the point was that he could.

He walked slowly down the street carefully placing each step, taking his time and trying to attract as little attention as a child alone at this hour could attract. It was two minutes past midnight when he swung open the gate and ducked under the police tape.

There was a boy on the other side of the pool, with short dark hair and deep brown eyes, around 11 or 12. Nothing particularly interesting or exceptional about him at first glance.

But Sherlock always looks twice.

He was slouching in a deck chair, clearly bored... and yet... his eyes shifted, his fingers tapped too much to be truly bored. But he was. Just like Sherlock sometimes.

"You're late," the boy said when Sherlock started to walk over to him, with a low, smooth voice.

"Sorry," Sherlock said slowly.

"Oh, no please, I'll come to you," the boy said, getting up and pushing the deck chair away. "Sherlock Holmes," he added, flashing him a smile. The boy got up and walked slowly across the length of the side of the pool.

"I'm coming to your school, you know," Sherlock told him, trying to sound bored when really he was burning with curiosity... and also a bit of inexplicable... fear. "I mean, this is very dramatic and everything, but... you couldn't have just waited?"

"I got impatient," the boy said, getting closer. "Oh, I was going to, but you impressed me. Especially today, with the shoes... very clever. I just had to meet you. You should be flattered."

"Oh, I am," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Well, go on," the boy said, "make the deductions. Or is that just a party trick? To impress your little pet?"

"He's not my pet."

"Hm. Could've fooled me," the boy said, stopping directly in front of Sherlock and smiling widely. "Admit it! You've been dying to meet me. Wondering if there was someone else as... I don't know... sociopathic? Genius? What's the latest word for it?"

"For what?" Sherlock asked uneasily.

The boy laughed a little. "Extraordinary." He smiled again. "Well, congratulations, Sherlock. You can have a friend like you. Because I am like you, Sherlock. Or rather, like me."

"I could be wrong," Sherlock said, "but I don't think I said I wanted to be your friend."

"That'll change." The boy grinned when Sherlock stayed silent. "Well, this has been very interesting, but Seb and I have to go now."

"Seb?" Sherlock asked, but then he heard the click of what could only be a gun from the locker room—like someone packing it away. "Was that a real gun?" he asked nervously.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the boy said. "Nice to meet you, Sherlock Holmes. Till next fall."

The boy started to walk away and Sherlock called after him, "What's your name?"

The boy turned around and said, "Jim Moriarty," before he disappeared through the locker room. Sherlock sighed and walked towards the gate. There was obviously something different about the boy.

But there was obviously something different about Sherlock, too.

Oh, well. He'd figure it out.

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading this story! This is the last chapter but I'm writing a story that is about them at Eton, which will be starting in a week or two, so if you want to be alerted when that starts you can follow me as an author (please? :)). So thanks again for reading! -Kelly**


End file.
